Can’t intimidate it with lawyers or board votes.
Fuck. What’s the point of having all this fucking money if I can’t protect her when I need to most?
“New rule,” I tell her, my voice coming out harder than intended. “We stay together.Everywhere. No going outside alone. Not even for thirty seconds.”
Her eyes widen slightly at my tone, but she nods. “Agreed.”
I pull her against me, probably too roughly, but I need to feel her solid and safe against my chest. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I claimed her last night and every molecule in my body knows it.
She looks up at me, and I realize she’s blinking away tears. It makes me suddenly get emotional as well, and I have to look away.
“We should grab some food while we’re out here,” she says quietly, her breath visible in the freezing air. “Steak and chicken for supper. All we’ve had today was nuts.”
My mind instantly goes to the gutter. “Those nuts you had were pretty good though, weren’t they? Though I suppose you liked the banana best.”
She giggles, slapping me with her mitt. “Stop it, silly. You know what I mean.”
I release her reluctantly and we approach the storage area together. I keep an eye on the tree line, scanning for movement, for the flash of tawny fur against white snow. While it’s getting dark, the reflective snow makes it easy to see quite far into the trees.
When we reach the bins, they’re exactly where we left them, perfectly organized according to her system.
“The bins are mostly scent proof,” she says, opening one carefully. “But the overflow bags? The frozen meat in them will absolutely let scent escape. I knew it was a risk. Too bad.”
She hands me a wrapped steak and chicken. I take them, noting how her hands shake slightly. Not from cold.
“Let’s go.” I put myself between her and the tree line as we head back through the deep snow. I’m scanning constantly. Every shadow looks like a threat.
Finally we make it inside, and the warmth of the great room feels like heaven. I drop the meat on the kitchen counter and immediately return to the great room. I check the fireplace, adding logs until the flames roar.
We strip off our outer layers and huddle by the fire. She’s shivering despite the flames, so I pull her onto my lap and wrap my arms around her. She doesn’t protest, just melts against my chest.
After a moment I pause and listen carefully... I can still hear the generator faintly, rumbling somewhere outside.
We’re wasting fuel.
I gently shove her off my lap and stand to flick a nearby light switch. It turns on. “We have power.” I pull out my laptop. “Time to see if this was all worth it.”
I plug in the laptop.
“Should I charge my laptop, too?” she asks.
“Save the fuel,” I tell her. “Mine has Starlink built in. If we can get internet, we only need one device.”
The laptop boots up and I watch the battery percentage climb slowly. One percent. Two percent. The Starlink dish should have powered on automatically when the generator turned on. I check the status indicator visible through the system tray.
Come on.
Just give me a signal.
The connection icon flickers.
Searching.
Searching.
It turns green.
